post trial b99
by Still-Obsessed
Summary: The fic follows the finale of Season 4. Detective Diaz is in prison but things may be changing. A scheduled Dance Moms viewing holds some interesting news for her. The first chapter of a story that will hopefully span multiple chapters and perspectives.


Rosa peers out of her jail cell and pops her bubble gum twice loudly.

Bubble gum should not have made its way inside her cell but she has her ways.

She looks at the cells across from her, three doors down to the left. Millie's hands reach out and waved and Rosa, nods, satisfied.

Millie has managed to secure the TV room for them to watch Dance Moms.

There are few things Rosa likes more than to relive her former ballerina glory days than by watching Dance Moms and ragging on everything that's happening on that show.

I mean, it's an absolutely terrible show, in a way that means it's terrible for your soul, but damn it's good television.

Millie also has a dark and dangerous dance past-she's a bank robbing tapper, a fact discovered through coincidence when the two of them were standing in the canteen line and Millie kept tapping her toes and humming and Rosa threatened to tear out her feet and beat her throat until she stopped.

Friendships can be born in the strangest ways.

Rosa sighed and climbed up to her top bunk bed—her cellmate had grand ideas about being in the top bunk, but a stare down won THAT argument pretty quick—and stared at the ceiling.

I wonder what Jake's doing, she thought. I wonder what the Nine Nine is up to. Is Pimento getting more scorpions or… whatever he was saying he would do in Argentina?

She thought again of whether or not she was better off now that she had let Captain Holt talk her into staying in New York. She would be… well, not in New York, which is favorable. But she would be away, alone, with only Pimento and hundred of scorpions or no scorpions for company. She wouldn't be a cop and she'd be in hiding.

She noticed that her bubblegum chewing was getting louder and more erratic and she sat up, crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, sat back down in bed again.

"God, I am depressed," she said aloud, to the empty walls.

"Well, we all are."

Millie walked in and played with her hair, twirling it around her fingers. It would've been annoying if Millie didn't have other, far more annoying characteristics to get irritate Rosa.

Rosa rolled her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at what was happening ground level and focused on the ceiling.

Millie and Rosa sat in uncompanionable silence. Well, Millie stood, and Rosa didn't offer her a place to sit, but then Millie never seemed to mind too much.

Rosa mused on the fact that she _had been in the bus seat_ , she had almost got away, and another part of her knew that she would have never, could have never sullied her name as a cop by escaping, and yet another part of her argued that what good was that—like her name was so pure and clean now that she actually was in jail, and the different arguing voices clambered and argued in her mind, like they had been for the 23 days.

This really must be what Jake's head is like: an absolute zoo.

Wondering about Jake's endless hyperactivity lead her to wondering about Jake, and that added another worried chatter in her mind.

Millie cleared her throat and Rosa didn't move but she did stop chewing gum.

"The show," Millie said, "is starting."

Rosa jumps down from the bed, in a too cool to use the stairs way, but she lands on her foot wrong (karma for wanting to break Millie's two weeks ago?) but she is too cool to wince or let it show.

She does limp a little as they make the long walk to the TV room, where the ESPN channel is still on, and the Golfing Girls are watching the end of their match.

The TV schedule is more or less obeyed when people actually reserve the TV beforehand. Arguments do happen regularly and often over the remote control, and Rosa once again gets a pang longs for her HD television in [redacted]. Not since middle school, when her 16 year old brother learned to respect her ability to beat his ass, has she argued about the remote control.

She is about to tell the other girls that they've got to leave the room, before the ticker running across the bottom of the screen catches her eye.

 _Captain Holt of the Brooklyn Nine Nine to discuss Detectives Pera—_

"Here, we were going to leave," the orange-jumpsuited blonde says, leaping for her seat. "No need for any chair throwing this time."


End file.
